Abelas, ma Vhenan
by LoveInChains
Summary: When he came to investigate the Breach, he never dreamed of being bound so entirely to anyone, let alone her. / Lavellan/Solas, translations provided


** Ir Abelas, ma Vhenan**

_**I'm sorry, my heart.**_

* * *

_More beautiful than anything he's known, beyond the Fade, beyond the memories he so treasures. A young elf, her dance as elegant as it is deadly, her heart pure, her mind wiser than anyone he's met. She seeked him out, asking about the past, about what he had seen in his travels, about the wonders of the Veil, about the spirits he had met. She didn't reject his ideals, and that warmed his heart more than he thought it ever could. Never has he been drawn so thoroughly from the Fade, never in all his life. And he wondered if his world of spirits and memories can ever compare without her in it._

* * *

"Solas?"

This is the first he truly meets her. A simple woman standing in front of him, offering greeting. Not screaming in agony as the magic bored into her hand threatens to consume her, not traipsing about the battlefield avoiding demons with a grace of their people, not thrashing in her sheets from the nightmares she's plagued with, a simple meeting, one he did not expect.

"Hello." He returns, offering her a kind smile. "How may I help?"

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions." She states plainly, her faint green eyes flickering. "It's not everyday you meet an elf that doesn't hail from either an alienage or a Dalish clan."

As her lips curl upward, the pattern of the vallaslin across her forehead and branching down her nose draws his attention. The markings of Mythal, the protector. He prevents his expression from souring, as he knows the true meaning of the marks she bears.

"What is it you wish to know?" He asks, motioning for her to take a seat on one of the barrels outside his cabin.

Nodding her thanks, she sits gracefully with her hands in her lap and she gets right to the point. "You're not Dalish, but you possess knowledge of the People that I've never known, never dreamed of. How is that?"

"Does one have to be part of the culture to crave knowledge of it?" He returns, his tone a bit dry and off-putting.

To his slight surprise, she chuckles quietly into her hand. "No, I suppose not. I guess it seems a bit foolish for me to ask when you put it like that. The thirst for knowledge is unquenchable, I've heard."

He can't help but smile slightly at her humility, he finds it to be more refreshing than he thought he would. The Dalish can be quite defensive, stubborn, he's glad to find her not overly so. "Yes, but I am not all knowing. My knowledge is related primarily to my explorations of the Fade. What I know of the People comes strictly from my wanderings."

"You've been in the Fade?" She asks, not in disgust or confusion, but in a pure childish curiosity.

He nods slowly, his slight grin never wavering. "I've spent most of my life dreaming in the Fade. Of battles both famous and forgotten. Of memories and secrets lost to time."

"That's -" She starts, her face almost glowing. "That's incredible! You _must _tell me more!"

Her excitement almost startles him. At first, he believes that perhaps she's playing him for a fool, faking her exuberance to make a point. To ridicule him. But as she looks up at him with her wide eyes, expectant and sincere, he knows that she's genuinely interested in his tales, and his resolve melts in response.

"Well, da'len, there is much to tell, where would you wish me to start?"

* * *

Weeks pass and without fail, night falls and she's there asking for stories he's more than happy to tell. Even as they're travelling through the Hinterlands, she finds a seat beside him by the embers and listens as he divulges secrets of lost cities and forgotten dreams. Occasionally she'll offer her input on the memory, ask questions about what he saw, offer a different perspective on what he saw. Often, she apologises, fearing that she's bothering him. He smiles, and assures her she's doing no such thing.

"Have you dreamed of anywhere new since we've come to the Hinterlands?" She asks one night, approaching him with a warm concoction she makes often for him and the others.

As she sits beside him, he ponders momentarily as he takes the drink she's offered. "Yes, I believe so. The ruins we passed the other night. I managed to catch a glimpse of what it once was. It was brief, but wonderful all the same."

She sighs wistfully, smiling up at the stars. "I wish I could dream as you do. It seems a lovely thing to experience. Slipping into the Fade on your own terms, recovering lost knowledge. I can't imagine a better way to spend my days."

"It _is _quite rewarding." He admits, stirring his drink and watching the liquid swirl in his mug. "And I so treasure all that I've experienced to be able to see more of the Fade. I've travelled over most of Thedas, uncovering all that I can in both this world and through the Veil."

She looks up at him, a slight confusion evident in how her vallaslin crinkles just slightly along her brow. "What do you mean? Is the Fade not accessible all at once?"

"Yes and no." He says. "The Fade is continuous, never beginning, never ending. But if one wishes to see something new in the Fade, their imagination must first allow it, as it is a realm solely governed by it. One who walks it such as I must first possess the capacity for new ideas to form, take shape."

"And is that your way of admitting that your imagination is stifled?" She teases, her green eyes dancing with mischief and the reflection of the fire crackling before them.

He chuckles quietly, careful not to wake the others. "If so, I can always ask Varric to spare some of his own."

She laughs along with him, having curled up into his side as they've spoken. "I'm not sure he can bare to part with it. He makes a living off of the wonders he puts to paper."

"Then perhaps someone will have to accompany me to the Fade." He suggests, continuing their small bout of banter. "To ensure that my imagination hasn't become too sedimentary."

She smiles, almost leaning on his shoulder now. "If you ever become consistent or predictable, I'll be sure to let you know."

The tale he tells her that night is one of a small girl, a little scamp who preferred the company of trees and nugs to that of her family. She often went scouring the woods, in search of adventure and buried treasure, like the stories her mother used to read to her at night before the Blight took her. The little girl would bring home to more mundane things, a twig knotted just right to look like a snake, a stone that glittered with sand, bits of vine that she plucked from the trees.

Only, to her, these things were not that simple. The twig was her mighty serpent, coiling around her arm to protect her from harm. The stone was the most precious stone in all of Ferelden, once belonging to an evil king that threatened to destroy the land. The vines are the reins of her mighty steed that she rides into battle, a trusted companion and a symbol of her army as she conquers evil.

But one day in her adventures, she came across a single halla, wounded and trembling in pain. It was young, barely old enough to stand on its own, and the young girl walked tentatively towards it, unable to stand by and do nothing for her. Oh how the creature bucked and tried to flee, she thrashed and kicked and desperately attempted to stand. The shaft buried deep in her leg proved escape to be impossible, yet she still tried.

Kneeling down beside her, gently the girl stroked her pelt, trying to soothe her as best she could. To no avail. The pain paired with the possible threat coming towards her forbad the halla from settling. But the girl refused to give in. She gathered elfroot from the woods and reduced it to a paste, as her sisters had showed her, and rubbed the medicine into the wound on the halla's hind leg. She came and did this every day, the creature growing less frightened by the girl's presence as time passed.

Then weeks passed and the halla recovered fully. She remained in the forest, having lost her kin long ago. The girl still came and visited her every day as they had become steadfast friends through the care that she'd provided. Her adventures had been pushed to the side temporarily, favouring time with her new companion above all else. An innocent alliance between a human and a halla.

Before he's able to finish the tale, he notices his companion has fallen asleep against him. He doesn't blame her, nor is he offended. In that day alone they had dealt with a pack of wolves corrupted by a demon and gone hunting for apostate supplies to provide for the refugees so they don't freeze in the crisp cold air of the Frostbacks. He admires how far she pushes herself for the sake of others and can't help but smile at her sleeping face.

Without realising his actions, he gently tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. She rustles at his touch only slightly, her cheek dimpling as she smiles softly in slumber. He doesn't know when he started paying so much attention to her, but he finds it hard to look away. The way her chest rises and falls in succession, he didn't know something so simple could mesmerise him so. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, he wraps an arm around her, her aura, her mere presence, successfully lulling him into blissful sleep.

* * *

_She smiles, and yet I do not feel the same warmth as before._ He thinks to himself as he watches her stealthily maneuver through the camp after her return from Redcliffe, offering greetings and forcing looks of happiness so as not to raise alarm. When the others aren't looking, her face falls, saddens beyond belief. He wishes more than anything to know the cause of such sorrow.

She says she ventured into the future, saw what life in Thedas will become if she fails. An assassination of the Empress, a demon army marching freely across land and sea. Beyond that, she hasn't specified. And while that is well enough for anyone to swallow, he knows that it far beyond what she's told. He knows that she experienced more than she lets on, something that forbids her from looking him in the eye.

"Lanna?" He tries to capture her attention, stepping towards her as she turns to face him.

Melancholy quickly replaced by a forced joy that ties his stomach in knots. "Solas, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Can I help you with something?"

He steps even closer to her, gazing deep into her eyes before she turns, her façade cracking, faltering. Gently he reaches for her, guiding her gaze back to him. "Please, lethallan, tell me what troubles you."

Still she persists, chuckling weakly. "It's nothing I cannot handle."

"_Please_." He begs, pleads. He can't stand the sight of her light being diminished any longer.

Hesitantly she reconnects their gaze, her eyes shining brighter, reflecting more light than before, a sign that tears were soon to follow. "Solas, I – I saw things, in the future. Things that I cannot be unseen no matter how hard I wish it."

He leads her away from prying eyes, hoping that somewhere quieter will help to ease her nerves. As they disappear behind the Chantry, he almost expects her to breakdown in tears. He chastises himself, know that she will never allow him to see her in such a state.

"I saw you die for me." She states bluntly, her tone saddens, fiddling with a stray leaf between her fingers. "You, Blackwall. You both were dying from red lyrium and you gave your last moments to ensure that Dorian and I could make it back to the present. To fix all of this before it was too late."

"Lethallan, of course I -"

She pounds the side of her fist into the trunk of a tree, a stray tear dripping from her eyelashes and falling to the snow. "Do you know what it's like to watch your friends resign themselves to that fate? To watch them willingly head out to slaughter? I _never _asked any of you to give your lives for me!"

He can tell that she's rattled, her resolve crumbling. He reaches out to her, pulling her into an embrace that he hadn't expected her to reciprocate. She clings to the cloth on his back, still trying desperately not to shed a tear. He feels no wetness as she leaned into his shoulder, though he thinks that perhaps crying would make her feel better. Gently he rubs her back, trying to ease her conscious, calm her mind.

He brings up his other hand to cradle her head, further their connection, the comfort he attempts to give her. "You returned to us. That means we have a chance to prevent that future from coming to pass."

"I know." She reasons, inhaling deeply and exhaling the breath. "It was just – I can't think of anything else. When I close my eyes it's all I can see."

Not knowing what else to do for her, he starts to hum. It's an old Dalish song that would be sung to the children when they were restless from nightmares. Slowly, but surely, she settles. Her breath returns to its normal rhythm, her shoulders stop shaking, and he feels her warm aura start to envelop him once more.

* * *

At the sound of exploding fire, of someone trying to force their way into Haven, he runs for the gates alongside her. She successfully sealed the Breach not hours before, it should be a time for celebration, not for panic and further bloodshed. But the fight is far from over. An army with no banner, no allegiance, marches on the encampment. They fight through templars, stained red by the poisonous lyrium they've consumed. They're led by someone called "The Elder One", someone out of nightmares.

Desperately they fight. Hordes and hordes of corrupted templars spill onto the battlefield, never ending, never relenting, a fierce onslaught from the moment they drew their blades. He looks for her amidst the flourishes of his staff, she's traded her bow for twin blades, diving into the heat of battle and cutting down enemies as they try to overtake the trebuchet. He protects her with what magic he can, but he cannot remain focused on her. Not when the safety of Haven is at stake.

Successfully they load a trebuchet and reclaim another. She fires, aiming for the mountain and causing an avalanche, successfully burying a significant number of templar troops. She turns, the sheen of sweat evident on her face, blood splattered her clothes, yet she smiles. An expression of disbelief rather than joy. She allows herself this much.

But it's not over. Coming straight for them, is a dragon.

"_Lanna!_" He shouts, calling her attention and beckoning for her to run.

Turning only for a moment to recognise the threat, she quickly follows. Running back for the gates just before the dragon unleashes a blast of energy that nearly levels the spot where they had previously stood. Along the way she aids those she can, helping the blacksmith enter his home, to return to a moderate safety. She defends the soldiers that remain, still fending off templars and rescuing villagers from collapsing buildings and possible incineration. He's run for the Chantry, but she still remains, disappearing in a cloud of smoke only to slit the throat of a templar threatening to charge the building, still coming to the aid of whoever requires it.

Finally, she heads for the Chantry, the doors closing behind her, she breathless. She collapses in but a moment. She can't continue fighting as she has, she'll exhaust herself long before the battle's over.

"Lethallan." He mutters, kneeling down beside her as she attempts to catch her breath.

"How do we make it out of here?" Is her first question, circumventing his attempts to possibly restore her as she stands and discusses their options with her advisors. Like those who seek their demise, she will not relent.

A path is revealed, beneath the Chantry. If she can distract the onslaught outside, hold them back, the people of Haven can escape. They can live to fight another day. _But what of her?_ He asks himself, angered that there isn't anything he can do to help. To stay her fate. She's already accepted her role. She's accepted that her sacrifice is the only outcome that'll save the most lives. Any lives.

He wants to hate her for her selflessness, but he cannot. All he can do is fight alongside her as long as he can. The mark on her hand was his doing after all. Protecting her with his magic as she barrels into the enemies with her blades drawn. He will stand at her back and ensure that she will have as much time as she needs.

As they're swarmed, he's never seen her more determined, more desperate. The humans must've been confused, bewildered. They could never imagine that an elf, a _Dalish_ elf, would fight so hard for their survival. That she would give her blood if it meant their escape. And yet here she is, a whirl of blades and poison, cutting down enemies before they even know she's there.

Every inch of her is either cut or covered in blood as she runs for the trebuchet, aiming it once more before it's too late.

"_Go!_" She screams at him, tears streaking her face.

"I'm not-"

"_Na vir!_" She continues, not allowing him to stay a moment longer.

He's about to object when the dragon appears once more, threatening to obliterate them. She yells for them to run, and comes right for him, runs with him for a time before whispering;

"Dar'eth shiral, lethallin."

He turns but she's already running back for the trebuchet. He starts to make for her when a blast hits ground directly in between them, sending him backward and further from her. He stands, almost deciding whether or not to return to her. A hand on his arm pulling him towards the Chantry sets his resolve.

"Ma nuvenin." He mutters to himself, bowing his head and escaping, leaving her to perish as she's crushed underneath the snow.

* * *

_She's returned_. He tells himself, not quite believing it even as she lays unconscious before him. Despite everything else, _she's returned_. From what the scout's gathered, she faced a darkspawn magister wielding ancient elvhen magic claiming to have marched through the Black City. The magic he is quite familiar with, and cursing himself for letting it fall into the hands of a madman aspiring to godhood and neglecting to see this outcome. _He was supposed to die upon unlocking the orb._

It feels wrong for him to remain beside her, knowing that he's the reason why she's in this situation. He reaches out and brushes his fingers across her cheek, caressing her as best he can. It reminds him of when he watched over her as her mark threatened to consume her body and soul. She's much calmer, compared to the last time he watched her sleep. At least outwardly. He worries about the turmoil tumbling through her mind.

He doesn't know when her presence changed, for him. When she became less of a curious young girl and more of a beautiful young woman that he can't bear to be away from for too long. When the gestures of friendship turned into those of affection. The way she looks at the world, it's a breath of fresh air. A cooling wind soothing him on a warm day, she's more important to him than he thought possible. Then he thought anyone possibly could.

It sickens him, thinking that he'd left her behind. He put her in this mess and he _left her_. Though he knows that if he's honest with himself, he didn't leave her, she stayed behind. Offering herself as a sacrifice so the people of Haven, of the Inquisition, could be safe. That does nothing to ease his conscious. Carefully, he wipes the sweat that accumulates on her brow. He can almost see the nightmares that're forming behind her eyes. She's been through an ordeal, again. And this night will plague her for the rest of her days.

"Solas?"

He looks up to find that she's awake, just barely. Her voice is dry, parched, he spoons out a ladle of water and as he cradles her head he brings it to her lips. Tentatively, she sips, sputtering a bit so he lays her back down. She inhales, exhales, and smiles up at him softly.

"You're safe."

"As are you, lethallan." He soothes, caressing her face in his hand.

She leans into his touch, a tear cascades down her cheek. "Ma serannas."

He does not know why she thanks him, it is because of her that he is even alive. Perhaps it isn't him she's thanking at all. Quickly she slips back into unconsciousness, her watery eyelashes fluttering shut. He wipes the remnants of tears from her delicate skin. Lingering only slightly, wondering if he should tell her the truth. Wondering if she'll despise him. He knows she will. He'll look into the eyes of a woman he's come to care a great deal for, and see nothing but hatred reflected back at him.

* * *

Quietly, pensively, he sits in his arm chair, leafing through a book he found in the Skyhold library. He's expecting her any moment. Since their flight from Haven and their eventual settling of the fortress they now occupy, the two have returned to their previous rhythm. She arrives at nightfall, usually bringing treats from the kitchen to fill them as they talk.

Their talks have become more morose, as of late. Talk of Corypheus, the name of the darkspawn magister she faced at Haven, trying to plot his next attack and wondering how to stop him. Though, they always end their discussions with a story, as they have always done. She tucks herself into his side, bringing a blanket over their laps. He still regales her with tales of grand parties, coronations, of victories, tragedies, though he feels her reactions to them are much more controlled than they used to be. He felt more like a man telling a story to lull a child to sleep.

Perhaps that is the case, as she always ends up slipping into slumber as she's nestled against him. He doesn't mind, truly. Her presence calms him just as his stories do for her. Sometimes she wakes a few minutes later, apologises, and leaves for her quarters. Other times, she remains. Quivering, shaking from the power of her nightmares. He will never tell her this, but he casts a calming spell over her at times, when the strength of her fear becomes too much. It's a small gift he can give her. A small comfort.

When she wakes in the morning, he's never known a more beautiful sight. She stretches, her back arching elegantly with her arms raised overhead. The first time he did not expect the sight he saw, her turning to him, her eyes still raw from sleep, a soft smile creasing her lips. _Good morning_, she'll say. _I'm sorry that I keep doing this, _she'll apologise. It takes everything in his power to not urge her to remain, if not for a moment longer.

She does not understand the influence she has over him, simply standing and walking away, he cannot remove his eyes from her. At times she is a hidden gem, conspicuous, shy, people can pass her and never know her worth. And, like that morning, she's sunlight, warm, enveloping, people bask in her presence and cannot fathom how fortunate they are, having known her. He can barely fathom it himself.

* * *

Opening his eyes, he smiles. Perhaps in a disbelief, but he touches his lips. _A kiss._ When he drifted off, determined to bring her back to Haven anyway he could, he couldn't fathom that she would do that. Uncertain, she stood on her toes. Gently, she pressed her lips to his. Embarrassed, she turned away from him. Surprised, he grabbed hold of her, pulled her flush against him, and kissed her as if it was only them left in this world.

He knows that their machinations cannot continue, that they will come to a gruesome end if he doesn't sever these ties as soon as he could. And yet he cannot help himself. Despite the truth, of who he is, of what he plans, he wishes for her to remain. _There won't be any harm in continuing for just a while longer. _He tells himself. Foolish, he knows, but he doesn't have the strength to leave her side.

"Good morning." She greets as she opens the door from the main hall. He smiles, hearing the sound of his slight deceit on her tongue.

When she comes into view he leans forward and props his elbows onto his desk. "Sleep well?"

Her look is one of complete – he cannot place the word. She doesn't look disappointed, nor does she appear to be angered, she gazes at him as if she were at the centre of a childish ploy. Chastising him slightly with only her eyes. But she smiles, her soft lips drawing his full attention.

"You were there." She commented, her tone dry despite her expression. "Surely you can work that out for yourself."

He chuckles. Though he hadn't intended for the kiss to happen, he surely returned it with force. And he realises that teasing her is quite enjoyable. The way her lips pout when he intentionally picks fun at her, it makes him wonder what other expressions she'll make. He wonders about what he hasn't seen, what he still needs to explore.

"Perhaps I would like to hear it in your own words." He continues, his grin never wavering.

Realising that he'll never relent, she sighs, sits at the corner of his desk, and lets out a quiet laugh. "You're horrendously impossible, do you know that?"

He smiles, absentmindedly leafing through a paper or two. "It is one of my most discernible traits, I'm sure."

"Beyond being so boring and dull." She quips with absolutely no bite.

"You're an awful liar, da'len." He counters, his face falling a bit as he recalls that he needs to be ceasing her romantic intentions before they can fully blossom. "And about the kiss – I'm sorry, I shouldn't've encouraged it. It was ill-willed of me."

She doesn't appear to be hurt, simply confused. "Did you not enjoy it?"

"What?" He asks, almost dumbfounded that she asked such a question. "No I – of course I did. Yet, I cannot –"

Subtly, gently, she tilts his chin and gives him a soft and tender kiss. He savours the brief contact, a warmth blossoming from her lips that he could easily become addicted to, if he allows himself. And, in this moment, he has half a mind to do just that.

She parts, granting him the smile that causes his heart to flutter. "You do not have to apologise, Solas. We're stuck in a war that's raging from all sides. We shouldn't be sorry for an affection we wish to indulge in."

"But –" He still protests, despite his lingering touch on her. "There's so much you don't understand, I –"

Again, she kisses him. Proving to be an excellent tactic to cease his ramblings. And he cannot say that he dislikes it. This kiss is a bit longer than the first, more heated. She cradles his face in her hand, he raises a hand to her waist. They linger, their mouths moving in perfect synchronisation, in passion. Any resistance he had is completely forgotten. To him, there's nothing more important to him in that moment then to fully experience her. For as long as he can.

One more small kiss and they break away, her green eyes flickering and gazing into his affectionately. "You _must_ stop overthinking this, lethallin. We care for one another. Why does that have to be wrong?"

He smiles up at her, defeated in every sense of the word. "It doesn't."

She returns his look of happiness. And as he brushes her hair out of her eyes, their lips connect again as if it is the most natural thing in the world. He cannot fathom for the life of him why he wished to end something so beautiful. Why he thought that separation from her was the best thing for both of them. He knows himself to be a fool, he knows why they cannot remain as they are, and yet he dares to be foolish. To drown in her warmth and to never let her go.

* * *

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, grief, mourning. He lost a good friend not a few days ago. A spirit of wisdom forced against its nature and eventually drifted back into the Fade, never again to return to the form he once knew.

She helped him. Despite everything she's known about spirits or demons, despite what proper rational thought screamed at her, she helped him. She broke the binding circle that commanded his friend, dodging the attacks it unleashed and shattering the magical columns, causing the demon to revert back to its natural state. A spirit of wisdom morphed into a demon of pride.

He's always known that she's different. Different from her kin, different from anyone he's met in all of his wanderings. But he didn't believe that she would help him as she had. The way she charged at the circle, not the demon. He's not used to relying on people, though he's coming to believe that if there's anyone in the world that he can trust implicitly, it's her. _When I return to Skyhold, I'll be sure to tell her_.

He walks across the drawbridge as she descends the steps from the stronghold. She doesn't rush for him, she allows him to come to her willingly. He wishes to embrace her, to apologise for his disappearance, but he still feels far too much sorrow from the loss of his friend.

They meet, standing in front of each other without saying a word. She offers him a sad smile, understanding that his pain clouds his mind. She rises onto her toes and kisses his cheek gently, giving him the soft touch he's truly missed. She reaches her hand to caress him, her fingers dusting across his jawline. Without much thought behind it, he clasps that hand, nestling into her touch, treasuring it. Accepting the comfort she so willingly gives him.

"I'm sorry, lethallan." He practically wept, his face contorting in sadness. "I did not wish to trouble you."

She gently strokes his cheek with the pad of her thumb, offering nothing but kindness and support. "You're in pain. There's no need to apologise."

"Your kindness and compassion knows no bounds." He smiles, gripping her hand tighter. "I have not expressed how much I appreciate your company, how much your presence has soothed me. I do not know that I would've acted as rationally as I had, I don't know that I would've returned, if it weren't for you."

"I'm glad you came back." She says, giving him a playful smile. "Who would keep me company and tell me stories if you'd stayed away?"

He chuckles quietly, removing her hand from his face and planting a light kiss on it. "I'm sure Varric could tell many more tales than I."

"So I should go curl up into his side tonight and beg him for a story, then?" She challenges, clearly teasing him.

"Hmm." He muses, pretending to think on the subject. "Perhaps, but I'm sure Cassandra will already be there."

She lets out a laugh, melodious and sincere. "I'm afraid you're probably right."

Further extending her comfort towards him, she laces their fingers and leads him further into the stronghold. She comments on the most mundane things. The shopkeeper has finally brought in new shipment, he learns, she shows him a rocking horse that an old warden's made, they chat amicably with her trainers, they overhear soldiers claiming they've found a barrel full of knives and not recalling who put them there. They look at each other, the name of a certain spirit falling off their tongues.

Finally she leads him up to his quarters, pausing to listen to a couple of noble's gossip about them and their relationship. They chuckle easily in response. She pushes open the door and dances inside, pulling him along. He laughs, not quite sure what she's doing but eternally grateful for it nonetheless. She uses his arm to twirl herself, and then she comes in close and kisses him tenderly. He brings his hand to cradle her face, returning the kiss with just as much affection as she. She smiles against his lips, lingering a moment longer and then stepping away, traipsing over to his couch and sitting gracefully upon it.

"I think it's time for a story." She proclaims, smiling and extending a hand out towards him, beckoning him with her soft gaze.

He nods, agreeing full-heartedly. "What would you like to hear, ma vhenan?"

The sudden term of endearment catches her off guard, for the most part. But her smile widens as her gaze warms with pure unadulterated affection and love. "Whatever you wish to tell me."

* * *

Nightmares. They poison her peaceful slumber each night since they returned from the Fade. Not that she'll even bother him with them. She no longer spends her nights curled up on his couch. Once his tales are done she returns to her room where she suffers in silence. Whatever fear was instilled in her, whatever she was forced to relive; it shakes her. Shakes her more then anything before. She walks through the stronghold, no one suspecting her troubles, except for him. He accompanied her into the Fade, something he could only have dreamed to do once more. But at what it cost her, he wishes they never crossed through.

"Ma vhenan." He calls to her as he watches her shadow her way through the camp. She does this when she doesn't want to be noticed, but that's how he knows that something troubles her.

She appears from the dark, her stark white skin and pale hair contrast with her surroundings. "May I help you, lethallin?"

Her tone is weak, meagre, nothing like what he's known for these many months. It wounds him, causes his heart to ache. He cannot bear to see her this way. He tucks her hair behind her ear, lingering his touch, trying to convey his concern.

She casts her gaze towards the ground, unable to look at him. "I'm alright, you don't have to worry."

"But I do, lethallan." He persists, brushing his fingers against her temple.

She doesn't waver, she grabs his hand tenderly, smiling. "Thank you. Though I promise you all is well."

He knows that she's lying to him, and she knows that he doesn't believe her. But he will not pressure her until she's ready. He does not know if it's pride that hinders her, though he doubts it, or selflessness. He wonders if she believes that there are more pressing matters, that her woes do not concern her friends, her companions, him. How wrong can one woman be?

* * *

The Winter Palace. The host of a grand masquerade. Quite fitting, as this isn't a party at all, but peace talks under the guise of such. She dances amongst the nobles, navigating her way through the Game like she's been doing it all her life. A compliment here, a snide remark there, she's a true master of the court. He watches her, impressed by her grace and tact. Occasionally she steals a glance his way, smiling. He knows that her dances with duchesses and marquis alike is purely business. Though he regrets that he cannot ask for more of her time. She is far too busy, far too important for him to be so selfish.

And yet, selfish is exactly what he is.

She defuses both political scandal and matricide all in one evening, in the matter of hours, rekindling the love of two people who cannot be more different, executing a hateful usurper, and imprisoning a corrupt duchess. More than anyone thought a brutish elf could accomplish. Not him. His admiration of her grows as he watches her humbly accept the thanks and praise of the whole of the royal court. Though, for a time, he loses her. Lost amidst the silk and diamonds, the gossip and glamour. Then he spots her, leaning against a banister out on the balcony, gazing up at the night sky like she's looking at an old friend.

"Not attending your own celebration?" He asks her, a bit coy, taking up a spot beside her.

She smiles at him. It's a small smile, but one he's glad for. It's easy for one to become overwhelmed by their tasks. Especially one so burdened as her. Though she doesn't answer his question, finding the answer obvious to both of them. She inhales deeply and the cool air envelops her. A calming aura emits off her skin. He holds her hand unconsciously. They've been doing this a lot as of late, naturally melding together without much thought.

"You were positively brilliant tonight, I hope you know that." He assures her as he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

A light chuckle escapes her. "I can't believe I let Vivienne talk me into changing into this gown before the talks. 'You'll look marvellous, darling.'" She exasperates, imitating her companion's voice and motioning to her skirt with her free hand. "It made lurking about the Palace much more difficult then it should've been."

He smiles, knowing full well that she could've remained hidden no matter what she wore. "You are the Inquisitor, a Dalish elf. The dress perhaps made others forget this."

"I suppose. No one mistook me for a serving girl, I can say that much." She jokes in good nature.

His lip twitches into a grin, amused. "Neither was I, surprisingly."

"I don't know why, you look like a serving girl to me." She continues, that devious spark in her eyes shining brighter under the light of the moon.

He laughs jovially, loud, forgetting how childish she can be and thoroughly enjoying the reminder. When he calms, she's smiling up at him. He dips down and gives her a chaste kiss, to which she returns with one of passion. She's missed him, these past few hours, and he can tell for he feels the same. He puts his hand at her nape, enjoying her for a moment. As that is all that they're allowed.

She kisses him once more before turning back slowly to her balcony, sighing almost blissfully. He dances his touch across her shoulders, bare, exposed by the open back of her gown. She lets out a low chuckle, looking up at him.

"Is it selfish of me to want to stay out here?" She asks, returning her gaze to the sky. "To delay our return to Skyhold, even if it's just for a while."

"To want a moment's peace in this hectic war doesn't make you selfish, lethallan." He assures her, rubbing her back gently. That's when a thought comes to him. He steps away briskly, claiming her attention by his sudden absence, and he bends at the waist, bowing; a hand extends to her. "Care to dance?"

Her face lights up like fireworks in the night sky. She's smiling as she places her hand in his. He pulls her to him, settling a hand at her waist and stepping back and worth to the rhythm of the music that spills out from the ballroom. As they dance, she has a hard time looking up at him. Her face colours a vibrant hue of scarlet. While they are completely comfortable around each other, whenever they engage in something more intimate, she becomes quite shy. He finds it to be absolutely endearing. They continue to sway, lost in each other, lost in the music, forgetting for that brief moment that the world is coming down around them.

* * *

_No_.

He can't believe what she's done. For the past day he's wished that he'd wake up from this gruesome nightmare. She's given herself over entirely to the power of an ancient elvhen god and she has no idea what it'll do to her. How could she? She has no idea what the will of Mythal even means. A vengeful woman who'll bring destruction on her terms.

He couldn't even look at her as they left the Arbor Wilds. He could feel her pain as her gaze lingered after him. She'd known that he was disappointed in her choice, more than disappointed. Devastated. They didn't speak at all on their journey back to Skyhold. Nor she to anyone else. Even after they returned she avoided him for a time. Perhaps hoping that he'd calm and speak to her. Though he didn't. He made no effort. But now she stands behind him, sheepish and frightened, confronting him. He doesn't want her to feel this way, but he fears for her. He doesn't know what she will become because of the influence of Mythal.

"Please, Solas." She begs, her voice threatening to crack. "Talk to me."

He clenches the arm of his chair, his heart feeling like it was being wrenched apart. He wants to comfort her, truly. To tell her that everything's going to be alright. But he's too wrought with the thought of losing the one person in all of Thedas that he can truly count on.

His tone is snide, hateful, though he doesn't mean it. Not entirely. "What's there to say? You're Mythal's creature now. You're no longer what you were."

She doesn't cry, but she's close to it. Her hands ball into fists at her sides. "What would you have had me do? Let Morrigan have this power? Samson, Corypheus?"

"Yes!" He shouts, turning to her and grasping her shoulders, his eyes more desperate then he even knew. "Anyone but you! You don't understand what this will do to you, to your spirit! Whatever you do now, whatever you think, it will _all _be for Mythal, whether you know it or not!"

She shoves off his grasp in anger, determination igniting in her eyes. "So you'll leave me now? Ignore me for the rest of my days? Because I didn't want to wish this burden onto anyone? I can live with this decision, why can't you!"

As much as it pains him, he cannot answer her. It tears him up inside. He knows why she made the decision. She is the most selfless creature he's met in his journeys. Yet he still can't bring himself forgive her for it. He can't forgive Corypheus for turning his own orb against him and bringing the Well of Sorrows to light. In that moment he turns away from her. Taking the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He doesn't despise her, he knows that the woman he loves is still in there. That _she _is still the woman he loves. But for whatever reason, he cannot bring himself to remind her of that. To remind himself of that.

She takes the silence as his answer, straightening herself and preparing herself to leave. Steeling her heart against him. "Ma nuvenin."

Hurt, defeated, she turns and makes for the door. This isn't what he wanted. He turns briskly, stopping her in her tracks and pulling her into an embrace in one fell swoop. He holds her desperately, telling himself that she's still the woman who captured his heart. He can feel her heartbeat against his chest, her breath on his skin. She is _still there_. In response, she grips at his back, tears falling freely from her eyes as she came apart. He curses himself, he knows that she's terrified, has _been _terrified since the witch put this ultimatum on her. And he, the selfish animal, pushed her away.

"I'm sorry, ma vhenan." He apologises, nestling into the warm crook of her neck. "I just – I don't want to lose you."

A sob escapes her and her grip tightens. "I've been terrified for days, Solas. The one person I might consult on what will happen to me couldn't even look at me! The man I loved wouldn't –"

She can't finish her statement, but buries her face into his chest. He knows that he's been cruel, that he's been a monster to her. He shunned her entirely when she needed him most. He has to remind himself that his cruelty will not end here. Someday soon he will have to leave her, for that will be the kindest thing he can do for her in the long run apart from causing her to forget about him entirely. He could not live with himself if he does that.

"I was being selfish." He admits suddenly, stroking her hair and trying to calm her cries. "I was so afraid of watching you become something that you're not, I overlooked how this ordeal might be affecting you, I forgot that you're still here with me."

She takes a shaky breath, exhales it. "I forgive you, almost."

He kisses her cheek, grateful for her kindness, her noble heart. She has not given him complete forgiveness, but he accepts what she gives to him. What she's always given to him. For the way she loves him with complete inhibition, it's more than he's ever deserved. Especially from someone like her.

* * *

Sitting in his arm chair, he struggles to find peace. To find solace. What he's just done, he'll regret for the rest of his days. Though, if he'd stayed, he would regret it more. He decided to tell her the truth. Who he really is. That was the only way he felt he could show her how much she means to him. He guided her to an old temple of their people, he sat her down at the fountain's edge and –

He couldn't do it. The words had seemed so simple to him. _I am Fen'harel and I plan to undo my mistakes. To return the People to their rightful glory._ But, of course, he knew the probable outcomes if he'd actually told her. She would hate him, surely. How could she do any less? After all the Dalish have taught her, the lies, the half-truths, there was no chance she could regard him as the man she had fallen in love with after that. He would simply be the man who destroyed her world.

So he told her of something else. The truth of the markings on her skin. How the vallaslin are slave markings, meant to show who an elf's master worshipped. She was distraught, saddened to learn that this was just another thing her people got wrong. He offered to remove the vallaslin, and she consented. He cast the spell, clearing her skin of the hateful marks and making her appear even more beautiful than ever before. Then he kissed her, passionately, with more love and affection he thought possible. Seeing her freed from the markings that bound her, it elated him beyond belief.

And then, he left her. He knew that if he'd remained with her in that moment that he would never let her go. That he couldn't do, so he ended it. Right there. He had hoped that she would understand why they must end their relationship. He can never be with her. He can never be the man she needs. One that deserves her heart. But as the words came spilling from his mouth, she smiled up at him, sadness clear in her once joyful eyes.

"I understand." She said, caressing his face gently, almost causing him to change his mind and remain.

But he left. And now this is where he sits. Alone. Without her warmth, without her touch, knowing that he will never feel either for the rest of his days. He stirs a cup of tea, though he hates the drink, he can't bear to fall asleep. He knows that if he ventures into the Fade now that his imagination will run rampant, and that he's now more likely to be noticed by demons. There's a pain in him that he cannot describe. One Despair would gladly feast on, he's sure.

There comes a knock at his door, surprising him. It opens and – it's her. He doesn't know what she's doing here, and he can't bring himself to ask. He simply stands, careful to set down his drink lest he dropped it in his sudden nervousness.

"Vh – Lethallan." He corrects himself quickly, his heart aching at the change in greeting. "Can I help you?"

She looks at him in bewilderment, like that's such an odd thing to ask. "Solas, have you forgotten?"

"Forgotten?" He questions, feigning ignorance and hoping to whoever will hear him; that she doesn't wish to speak of what happened at the temple. He doesn't know if he's strong enough to refuse her yet.

But she chuckles lightly into her hand, her eyes finding his though he notices that they lack a bit of their original lustre. "What time is it?"

He has no idea where she's going with this line of questioning. She's not devious, not in the sense that she would actively play with his feelings, his mind. He looks outside and tries to remember how long it's been since the sun set. That's when he realises exactly what she's been talking about.

"You've come for a story." He sputters in a slight disbelief, shaking his head and looking up at her. "What do you wish to hear?"

She smiles, not like before but he tries to ignore the subtle sadness in her expression. Then they both sit on their usual couch, though nowhere close to each other, as they used to. He expects that much. She isn't giving off the airs of a woman scorned, but she is one none-the-same. He's hurt her, irreparably. He will never forgive himself for that, and he doesn't know whether or not this further contact, however innocent, is more harmful then it is soothing. He needs to forget her, fall back asleep and forget that the Breach, the Inquisition, forget that any of the past several months ever happened. If only it was that simple.

* * *

They've continued as such for several days. Back into their natural rhythm, though not anything like what it was before. He's to blame, he understands this, but he desperately misses their innocent encounters after midnight. She would curl up into his side, tell him about the life she lived roaming the Free Marches, tell him about her family, her clan, she had about just as many stories as he and each were just as enthralling as the next. Not because they were overly wrought with adventure and danger, but the look on her face as she spoke so fondly of her people.

Now, he's not sure if she bears any pleasant memories of her past. He might've ruined all that she knew with the knowledge he partook onto her. He curses himself for changing her whole life and then actively removing himself from what he'd wrought. He had no idea he could possibly detest himself more.

"Solas?" She says one night, appearing well before their appointed hour, still in her blood stained armour as she peers into his quarters.

He puts down the book he was reading and he stands, smiling. Trying to put on airs just as she. "Lethallan. It's a bit early, isn't it?"

She nods, giving him a weak smile and staring at the ground. He knows that she hasn't arrived for her usual reasons. He feels that the day he's feared since he whisked the vallaslin from her face has finally come. And he's not prepared, not in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, I just –" She starts, sighing laboriously and looking up at him. "I need to ask about what happened. I've tried to ignore it, forget just as you suggested, but there are just –"

"Lethallan." He interrupts, ready and willing to evict her from his quarters at the drop of a pin. "I cannot give you the answers you seek. It will simply breed more questions and cause you to linger in areas which you should not."

She's smiling at him now, like she's predicted every word that's spilling from his mouth. "There are only three questions I wish to ask, and you only have to answer them yes, or no. Though I'll leave if you do not wish to and go back to as we were. Pretending that we never cared for one another."

Her words, nonchalant and biting, cut him deep. He deserves no less, and he knows that she isn't causing him pain intentionally. He's reluctant, he truly is. And can one blame him? He doesn't know if the information he'll give her will cause her only more pain or will it truly provide the closure she seeks? He pinches the bridge of his nose, contemplating. He knows her. Her rational mind and strong heart, he can give her the few answers she seeks. At least, he hopes.

"Alright." He agrees, finally, nodding slowly and facing her. "I will answer your questions."

Of course, she isn't surprised. Surely she knows that he would give her the world if they had the time. "Three simple questions I promise. Answer truthfully and I will bother you no more on the subject. Was it my fault? Something I did?"

Those were technically two questions, but he understands what she's trying to get across and he responds with a curt, "No."

She nods, her smile wavering only slightly. "Did you have good reason?"

"Yes."

Another nod, and she starts to turn away from him. She heads for the door, only lingering on the scaffolding for a moment to look over her shoulder at him. Asking a question he's sure will be the death of him.

"Do you still love me?"

He doesn't know how to respond. Tell her the truth and she might linger on her feelings for the rest of her life. Though, if lies to her, he won't be able to live with himself. He loves her, more than anyone he ever has before. He cannot pretend otherwise, that would be an insult to her affections towards him. However short lived they were. But he still believes that to be the best option for her. Break her heart, let the pieces scatter, let her resent him for the rest of her life. _That_ would be easier on her.

"No."

She smiles, a heart wrenching sadness corrupting her beautiful face. Her emotions much more clear without the vallaslin clouding her expressions. She nods once, turning away from him before the tears burst forth from her eyes.

"Thank you, Solas." She says, her tone shaky and hurt. "I will return as I usually do."

He does not deserve her. Every time she opens her mouth he realises this with more veracity than before. She's kind, even while his words devastate her and break her resolve, she refuses to waver. She is his friend. She's stated that many times to him. _We may not be lovers but we are still friends._ He cannot imagine a world without her, for his life has been irreparably intertwined with hers.

* * *

Before him are the shattered pieces of his orb. The relic he so foolishly put in a madman's hands. She still doesn't know, he can't bear to tell her. He kneels down and picks up part of his orb, his sadness threatening to turn to anger. He wants to scream, lash out, let the beast free, but he can't. She's still there, standing behind him, gingerly placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. She cannot know who he is. Not now, not ever.

"I'm so sorry, lethallin." She offers him in kindness, rubbing his back gently.

"It is not your fault." He laments, gripping the piece tight in his hand until it cuts through his skin. "It is mine. It – it wasn't supposed to happen this way!"

She doesn't know what he's talking about, how can she? How can she fathom that it's him that thrust her into the role she was forced to play? That all of her pain, her suffering, it was _his_ doing. If he had just been stronger, if he had only been smarter, the orb would still be whole, still be his. She would still be a young elf under the protection of her clan. The light in her eyes would be bright, vibrant, because he would never've snuffed it like a flame.

Still, she doesn't leave him despite his ramblings. He stands, turning to her and letting the remnants of the orb drop to the ground. Without thought, he holds her in his arms, desperate for her as he will always be. _One last time_. He tells himself.

"Abelas…" He practically sobs, knowing that this will be the last he sees of her. "Tu ma'arlath."

He feels her demeanour change, to what he doesn't know. She simply clings to him. Clings to him like he holds onto her. "Dar'eth shiral, ma sa'lath."

She knows. She's always known. He told her when they first met, that he'd stay long enough to seal the Breach and obtain the relic used to create it. Now that it's gone, she knew he had no other reason to stay. He had left her behind. Nothing ties him to the Inquisition any longer. They were of two different worlds. He, to live a life of solitude for all eternity. She, to be loved by everyone around her, to cause others to smile as bright as he had once done.

He holds her tighter in that moment, wishing beyond belief that he doesn't have to leave her. That he can live a life with her, share a love that will last for as long as they both live. But there is still much that he needs to do. He must right his wrongs in whatever way he can. He pulls away from her, his gaze cast down towards his orb once more before she tilts his chin up and gives him the smallest kiss.

"Vir atisha." She says, caressing his cheek and gazing up at him with more affection then he will ever deserve. Not from her, not from anyone.

"Dar'eth shiral." He finishes, lingering his touch on her a moment longer before he leaves, vanishing in the rubble and the oncoming celebration.

He looks back to her, surrounded by their friends. They voice their praise, appreciation, wonder, surprise, their survival. And they all have her to thank. He wishes her the best, he truly does. Perhaps now that he's out of her life she can return to a life she'll be happy to live. But he turns away, his path leading him far from her. Leading him away from the woman who captured his heart and still holds it in her grasps like a vice.

* * *

He didn't plan on returning to her. He truly didn't. His mind, it's too far clouded by grief, he found himself gravitating towards her. Losing the orb was too much. He couldn't bear it. Losing her was even worse. He can lose her another day, another time. So he returns to Skyhold in the midst of a grand party, seeking a comfort that he does not deserve from a woman who is better off without him. In this moment, he doesn't give a damn.

He's able to mask himself, remain hidden, as he searches for her while avoiding a particularly drunk Qunari mercenary. She isn't in the Great Hall, nor is she in the kitchens or anywhere near the celebration that's been so elegantly held in her honour. It reminds him of the Winter Palace. Where he found her all alone on a balcony overlooking a snow covered Halamshiral. He slips through the door up to her quarters without alerting anyone and ascends the steps quickly, hoping beyond all hope that she's there.

And she is. She's lying asleep in her grand bed, silk sheets covering her, her pale hair strewn about the pillow beneath her. He hasn't seen her sleeping face since he'd removed her vallaslin. She's more beautiful then he even remembered. Her expression peaceful for the first time in months. He reaches out for her, but thinks better of it. Her aura is enough to ease his troubled mind, and he feels better for coming. There's no reason for him to remain. He makes way to leave, to do the job he knows he must.

"Solas?"

His back goes rigid, she's awoken and he cannot move an inch. She sits up, lethargic. She's completely bare but she covers herself with the blanket draped over her. His breath hitches in his throat. He thought her the most beautiful woman in the world before, never has he ever been so wrong.

"Lanna –" He starts, wondering if he should simply leave and she think that this is all a dream. A horrible dream.

Before he can make this decision, she reaches a hand for him, grasping his and rubbing the pad of her thumb against it. "Is everything alright?"

_Of course she's concerned_. He thinks to himself, having been curious to what her reaction would be to see him standing over her. "It is now – I-I'm just – I needed to see you one last time."

She smiles at him, never ceasing the ministrations with her thumb. "You still grieve over the orb."

He nods, finding a seat on her plush bed. "Another relic of our people, lost."

"I know it's more than that." She informs him with only compassion in her voice. "And one day I hope you'll trust me enough to tell me. Or at least write it down in a letter."

He chuckles, a weak sound. "You've always known too much for your own good."

She laughs in her melodious voice, spreading warmth through him. "Perhaps that is why Corypheus sought me out. Why I was truly named Inquisitor."

"You know that is not the reason, lethallan." He almost chastises her, slightly appalled by how easily they've fallen back into their old ways.

She gives a soft smile, resisting the urge to kiss him, to hold him. But she knows that their affections cannot last. He will leave soon and she will have to bear with the reopened wound while he vows never to return. She's unsure if she can survive any more heartache.

Suddenly though, he grips the fabric of his pants, still wishing to tell her more than she needs to know. He wants to tell her everything. He's too distraught, his resolve slipping. She gives in first, grasping his collar and kissing him, more than passionately. Not caring for tomorrow, or even the next hour, but only giving attention to _now_.

"Da'assan –" He protests in between kisses. "We cannot, I –"

She parts and smiles up at him. "Think of it as our final farewell. Nothing more, nothing less."

He wants to resist her, he truly does, but his determination is weak, meagre. He grabs the back of her neck and pulls her to him in a heated kiss. Their tongues intertwine and she wraps her arms around his neck, causing the blanket she'd been using to cover herself to fall. Unconsciously he reaches a hand to explore her bare body, marvelling in the softness of her skin, her lips, her _everything_. Softer than the silk bedspreads adorning her bed.

As she eases him out of his clothes, he lays her down. Her lips are red, swollen, before long. Her eyes are glazed over with passion and she reaches up for him, craving him just as much as her does her. He delves in, not caring for a single moment what will happen after. And neither did she.

He wakes the next morning in almost disbelief. She's lying beside him, quiet, content, satisfied. He brushes her hair out of her face, still marvelling over her beauty. He cannot believe that he allowed his convictions to waver, again. But as he watches her chest rise and fall with the strength of her breath, his mind goes blank. He can only think of their night together. How wonderful it felt to caress her, to be inside her, to watch her come apart and back together once more. Short lived, leaving him craving her even more.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open. They find him and she smiles. Gradually she sits up and stretches, her arms above her head. Gently he touches the small of her back, still revelling in her. She turns to him, chuckling. That playful spark returned, her eyes glow with it. She lays back down beside him, giving him a chance to regard a quiet sadness behind her happiness.

"I expected you to be gone when I woke." She admits quietly, her voice a bit strained, hoarse.

The words hurt, but he cannot blame her. Not after all he's done to her. "Perhaps that would've been better. Because I find it hard to leave your side now."

She laughs. "If I'd known that sex would keep you by my side I would've tried that a long time ago."

He can hear the hurt in her words. Still, she remains strong. She sits up and leans against the bedframe, her smile never wavering. "You will write to me, won't you? I still want to hear of your journeys in the Fade."

He can't help but smile weakly at her, sitting up himself. "Of course. Provided that I know how to find you."

"Leliana will be able to find me, I'm sure." She says in a much lighter tone.

"Then you plan to return to your clan?" He asks, thinking he'd dissuaded her from ever associating with her people again. Which wasn't something that he'd wanted.

She shakes her head, her smile saddening even further. "If I return without my vallaslin, I won't be welcome. I'm might try to find a different clan, one not up to date with everything that's happened. Pass as a city elf, perhaps. Or maybe I can try to explain the true meanings of the markings."

There's a pang in his heart, realising just how much damage he's truly done to her. The Dalish are not known for their understanding, nor for someone questioning their ways. Even from one of their own. Exposure of the vallaslin origin would more than likely end in her exile. He didn't want that. He didn't want any of this for her. And yet he just keeps ruining her life for her.

"How can you lie next to me vhenan, knowing how much I have wronged you?" He implores in a slight anger. The way she almost allows him to do this to her. He would've much preferred rage, her claiming outright that she hates him and move on.

At 'vhenan', she cringes. But she reclaims her composure before he has a chance to question it. "You did not intend this for me. You were trying to free me from the lie we Dalish have been telling for generations. You knew the true meanings of the vallaslin and I do not regret my decision to remove them. I am no slave. I am glad to be rid of them."

"That's not all though!" He continues, his anger rising further. "I keep coming back to you. I see the sadness in your eyes when you see me. I ended _everything_, and yet _I _am the one returning just to cause you more pain!"

She smiles at him still, reaching for his hand. "I cannot explain it, lethallin. I love you, and I will do anything for you to be happy. You have not treated me poorly, nor have you given me cause to hate you. You made a decision and you are having a difficult time keeping to it. I see no problem in continuing to be your friend."

He's not angry at her, he realises, but upset with himself. More upset than he can even imagine. "What we did – that wasn't an act between friends. How can you justify that?"

"You needed comfort." She admits, casting her gaze down at the sheets, guilty. "I did what I could."

The realisation hits him like a storm. What this woman will do for him, giving herself up to him entirely, he curses himself. He does not deserve such a selfless woman. Such a giving woman. She should not feel the need to give anything more to him, and yet she does. He must end it here. Entirely and forever. Without room to question him.

He stands quickly, retrieving his clothes and adorning them faster than he ever had before. He doesn't even look at her as he makes way for the door. The urge to turn back and see her one last time is more than he can bear, but if he turns back he will eventually return. And he cannot have that. They are done. She will hear no more from him. She will no longer have to worry about putting on a brave face around him. She won't have to pretend. That is the greatest gift he can offer her. And the last.

_Ir Abelas, ma vhenan._

* * *

Abelas: (phrase) I'm sorry (n.) Sorrow (adj.) Regret

Assan: (n.) Arrow

Da'assan: (n.) Little arrow, term of endearment

Da'len: (n.) Little person, child, baby, a term of endearment

Dar'eth shiral: (phrase) May your journey go safely, a farewell phrase

Fen'Harel: (n.) Dread Wolf

Lethallan: (n.) Friend, female

Lethallin: (n.) Friend, male

Ma nuvenin: (phrase) As you wish

Ma sa'lath: (phrase) My one love

Ma serannas: (phrase) Thank you

Me vhenan: (phrase) My heart, term of endearment

Na vir: (v.) [you] Go

Tu ma'arlath: (phrase) I still love you [_still I love you_]

Vallaslin: (n.) Blood writing

Vhenan: (n.) Heart

Vir atisha: (phrase) Go in peace

**Edited for correctness. _Ghilana Emma Lath Din'an_ acts as the Trespasser branch of this story.**


End file.
